


Here Be Dragons

by one_flying_ace



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_flying_ace/pseuds/one_flying_ace





	Here Be Dragons

_Here Be Dragons, Merlin, PG, 3,300 words. Unbetaed, but hopefully not too bad._

 _Just a little randomness. Written for[](http://the-backrow-kid.livejournal.com/profile)[ **the_backrow_kid**](http://the-backrow-kid.livejournal.com/) , who wanted Merlin and kittens.  
_  
No one really knows where they came from.

It's a bit dramatic, especially the way Will tells it, but it's also true. Gwen came in one morning and found the box on the reception desk, closed up and with a little note on the top saying look after them please, they were going to be drowned.

There'd been a bit of worry about exactly how someone had got in, left the box and got out without setting off the alarms, but the surgery was fine and no one had tampered with the pharmacy cupboard, so it didn't really matter.

The way Will told it, the box had just appeared, contents and all. Like magic. That was why the alarm stayed silent, and the animals too. Then again, Will would swear blind that he'd seen a unicorn after a few pints, so who really knew.

All that matters is that the Camelot branch of the RSPCA has four kittens, and if anyone ever asks if they're for adoption, the collective answer is: no.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tristan's the all-black kitten. He's a bit mangy too; part of one ear is gone, and the fur on his back stands up in little tufts. Morgana had a look when she first checked them over, and said that he's got scar tissue there. Probably a fox, or maybe another cat, a scrap before he got put into the box and brought to the shelter.

He tends to wander round the entire centre, keeping an eye on things and helped by the fact that they tend to keep all the doors open for quick access if there's a problem. They've all learnt to give him a wide berth; he might be their kitten, but he'll still attack their feet if they get close enough.

He hates everyone.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

You can't not like animals, working at the centre. It's a rule.

No, really.

They all got drunk, about two weeks after Gwen started on reception, and came up with them. The first rule was 'must like animals,' and it all went downhill from there. Merlin doesn't remember much about the night beyond the tequila and some gold star stickers, but his handwriting is on three of the rules, so he had some input. Most of them are in Gwen's; she was the least drunk, and someone had to wield the biro.

Between the rules and the kittens, they're a pretty unique branch of the RSPCA.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Do we have any more heavy duty gloves?”

“Should be a couple of pairs in the cupboard,” Merlin says, and glances up. “Why?”

“Edwin's bloody ferret tore a chunk out of mine again.” Arthur grimaces at the shredded remains of his left glove. “Next time Will can go get it for its checkup.”

Merlin grins, focusing on a tangle in Gaius' coat. Their oldest resident, and an Old English sheepdog, Merlin sometimes has to put in a lot of effort to make sure his coat is okay. “You want me to get them, don't you.”

Arthur opens his mouth, catches Merlin's look, and rolls his eyes. “Yes, fine, I can never find a thing in there.”

Standing, Merlin gives Gaius a pat, feeling the rest of the tangles smooth out with a little brush of magic. “I'm not actually your servant, you know.”

“Think of it as...willing to help a friend out,” Arthur said, slinging an arm around his shoulders with a grin.

“Next time, I hope that ferret gets your fingers as well.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The second kitten is Lancelot. He's a brown tabby, and definitely the most handsome. He spends most of his time sitting on Gwen's desk, batting at her keyboard and playing with the paperclips scattered around. When there's no one in the waiting room, she'll sit back, let him jump into her lap and pet him until he falls asleep. Then she'll move him back next to her computer, and type quietly.

Sometimes, he likes to climb onto Arthur's shoulder and travel in the RSPCA van with him.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Number six in the rules is 'must not flirt with Morgana.' Nobody can remember who came up with it, and no one will own up either. It's written in Gwen's handwriting, but seeing as she's also the one who wrote 'don't pull The Dragon's tail,' that doesn't prove anything. Gwen is not stupid enough to do that once, let alone enough times to need to write it onto the rules for herself.

Arthur thinks it was Merlin, but then, Arthur's an idiot sometimes.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

February is when they get the most strays come in. One year they got Mordred too, and like many of the older pets, he's stuck around so long it's pretty clear he's not going anywhere. Technically he's not an employee, seeing as he's only eleven, but they all get together so he makes some pocket money out of the little odd jobs he helps Merlin with.

He wants to be a vet when he's older, and so far as Merlin can tell, Morgana is the only person who looked at him and said he could do it. Most people don't think a gypsy kid can amount to anything, and it's not as if the general opinion runs in their favour around Camelot. Mordred's always clean and tidy, though, and he sits to one side of the reception desk to do his homework most afternoons; the camp is too noisy, he says, everyone cooped up while it's freezing outside.

Nobody really minds him being there, except The Dragon, but as long as they avoid each other things go along quite smoothly.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There are three more hutches to clean out when Will comes clattering down the corridor to find Merlin, and he hands the brush over to Mordred at the look on Will's face.

“Morgana needs you,” Will says, and Merlin's running before he hits the end of the row of cages. He's not a qualified vet, or even a nurse, but he helps when things get really bad. It's the little bit of magic he's got, see. Not always the most helpful of things, but when an operation goes wrong enough that Morgana wants him there, he does what he can.

Trusting Mordred to finish up, he pushes through into the prep room, catching Morgana's eye as he fumbles with the taps and soap. She gives a minute shake of her head and goes back to what she's doing, swearing behind her mask at a flurry of muffled beeping from the monitors.

“What is it?”

“A tumour,” Morgana says tightly, her hands busy. “Six-year old mastiff, bad reaction to the anaesthetic. Can you try?”

“Um,” Merlin says, but Morgana gestures with one gloved, bloody hand at the open wound in the dog's side, and he swallows. Rabbits, sure, and small rodents, maybe a cat if he pushes it, but a dog? His magic has never worked for anything this big before.

“At this point,” Morgana says, voice sharp as she reaches for whatever her assistant is holding out, “you can't make things worse.”

“Not encouraging,” he says, but it sort of is.

Normally the magic is tricky to deal with when people are around, probably because he spent so long pushing it away and trying to forget that it existed; Gwen says it's sulking still, but that's because she's nice and tries to make him feel better about being useless with it still.

Arthur says it's just because he's useless.

Arthur's a prat.

This time, though, he doesn't have to concentrate very hard to pull it towards him, to feel the spark at his fingertips that tells him it's going to behave today. Morgana's still working as he reaches out with the magic, and it slides around the blade of her scalpel, a metallic taste blooming in Merlin's mouth. He ignores it, and keeps going. He knows the instant he hits the problem; the tumour is curled around a blood vessel, hiding it, and Morgana had cut into it without realising until the pressure had lifted enough to make the blood come streaming out.

Merlin might not be trained, but he knows when something is wrong in an animal. The magic seems to feel it too, pulling away from him to sink into flesh and knit it back together. Morgana leans back, her surgeon's instruments lifting away from the incision as it heals.

“There you go,” Merlin says, and sways groggily as the tumour drops into a dish with a dull splat. He feels like he's been on his feet for a week, not two hours. “Anything else?”

Morgana pulls her gloves off and catches him before he can sway into a wall. “Go sit down, I need to finish cleaning up.” She pushes him gently through the doors, smiling. “And thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, and makes it to the sofa in their little staffroom before he falls asleep.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Freya is the third kitten, tiny and dark grey. She was so small and thin when the box turned up that they all thought she was dead, apart from Merlin. He'd lifted the tiny bundle of fur and looked at her, really looked, with the golden eyes that made Gwen worry and Arthur edgy. It'd taken a few minutes, but she'd meowed eventually.

Of the four kittens, Freya is the only one who doesn't seem to be interested in the daily life of the RSPCA centre. She's happy to curl up in the staffroom and keep whoever wanders in company, a tiny bundle of fluff with a rarely-heard meow.

She won't let anyone apart from Merlin stroke her, though.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When he wakes up, Gwen is leaning over him looking worried. The kettle is almost boiling behind her, so she's been there for a few minutes. Merlin goes to sit up, gets halfway, and then feels a warm weight on his chest: Freya, curled up and half tucked underneath his jacket. She's got her paw on the white RSPCA lettering, and looks like she's settled in for a while.

“I don't want to move her,” Gwen admits, moving away to pour the hot water into two mugs. “You know how she is.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says, because for all they agreed to share the kittens, Freya's sort of his anyway. Last time someone else picked her up, she hid underneath the sofa for two days and only came out at night to eat. He scoots back until he's mostly sitting up, sliding Freya down his chest as carefully as he can until she's in his lap, still purring, and takes the tea Gwen offers. “Was I out long?”

Gwen sips and shakes her head. “Almost an hour. Nothing like last time.”

“The ani-”

“Mordred took care of them,” she interrupts with a smile, “and Arthur's taken the other dogs out.”

“What about his rounds?”

“He's got time.” Gwen pushes him back against the sofa's arm with a firm hand. “Stop worrying.”

Merlin knows better than to argue with Gwen, so he drinks his tea, pets the gently purring Freya, and tries to work out if the new sense that his magic wants to be used all the time is a bad thing.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Dragon is a very large, very bad tempered Great Dane. He's been at the centre for longer than any of them, since Arthur's father Uther was still the practicing vet there. He's had the name for that long too; when Merlin first started work as the animal care assistant, Arthur had introduced him to the huge dog with the nickname.

“It says Kilgharrah on the door,” Merlin had said, and Arthur had shrugged.

“Everyone calls him The Dragon,” and once he'd moved so Merlin could look into the pen, he'd seen why. It wasn't just his size, or the expression on his face that said if he could breathe fire, he would, just to get rid of the puny mortals annoying him by their existence.

“What happened?” Merlin had asked, kneeling down to get a better look.

“Someone took a knife to his face,” Arthur had explained. “Drunk, stupid and trying to make him look scary. You should've seen Morgana when she saw him, I thought she was going to go after them with a stolen scalpel.”

There were two big, raised ridges of scar tissue on the dog's face, curving over his eye sockets like the ridges on the dragons Merlin had seen in books. They didn't look painful anymore, and when Merlin had reached out with a tiny big of magic to check, The Dragon had given him a Look, like he knew what Merlin was doing.

They tolerated each other after that. The Dragon didn't need a lead when Merlin took the large dogs out for their morning walk, or rather, he wouldn't accept one, but of all the people working at the centre, he'd listen to Merlin the most when given commands. It's an uneasy truce; sometimes Merlin will go to let him out for a run, and get bared hackles and a growl in return. Other times, The Dragon will sit near Merlin as he keeps an eye on the dogs.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Number two on the list of rules is 'do not piss Gwen off.' Obviously the rules aren't out in the waiting room, or anywhere else public, although sometimes Will says they should be. That's usually after someone obnoxious and loud has come in, so they tend to agree. But, nevertheless, the rules stay in the staffroom.

Gwen organises everything. She book appointments, keeps on top of their medicinal supplies, basic stock, feed for all the animals, plans Arthur's rounds, everything. When Arthur forgot her birthday, she quietly booked him solid for the whole day, and made him see both Edwin's vicious ferret and Nimueh, with her evil-eyed cats and habit of touching him every time he came near enough.

She's not exactly petty, she'd explained to Merlin, but it was her birthday, and Arthur had been especially prattish that day.

Merlin sympathised, then went and helped Arthur make it up to her. Arthur's a prat, but he's also Merlin's friend, and he can do irritatingly good 'help me' eyes when he really wants to.

So yeah, that's the rule. That one is in Morgana's handwriting, but no one knows why she wrote it down; so far as everyone knows, she and Gwen have been best friends since secondary school, and if anyone asks, they just shrug and smile a little.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The fourth and final kitten is another tabby, with little wiggly black lines running through his white bib. Will thinks they look like snakes, but when he told Valiant that it'd earned him a scratch on the arm and indentations from his tiny teeth on Will's finger.

Valiant is a scrapper. He'll try to fight with any other cat that gets brought in, batting his little paws through their carrier doors to try and entice them forwards. Most people don't mind, but sometimes they get someone who'll tell them that the kittens should be kept with the rest of the animals, not allowed to wander round the centre.

Merlin always remembers the first night they had the four of them, of shutting them all up in one of the free cages in the cattery. They'd cried for the hour that Merlin had held out, twining over each other and trying to push against the plastic window at the front. Eventually he'd pulled out one of the big cat beds and put it in the staffroom, moved them all in there, and they'd not cried since.

Apart from that time Arthur had trodden on Valiant's tail, but that was an accident.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There's a siamese cat out in the waiting room when Merlin comes back from taking the dogs on their morning walk, and that's not a good sign. The one thing Tristan hates more than people is siamese cats; they've got no idea why, although Arthur's theory is that his injuries came from one. Merlin maintains that a siamese would never sink so low as to attack another cat, they'd get it done for them.

It'd led to a very long, very involved discussion about the possibility of a cat mafia, and then Gwen had interrupted with an exasperated look and the reminder that they had jobs to do.

He looks round, peering behind the desk as well, but there's no sign of the scruffy, black-furred kitten. Biting his lip and deciding he can risk it, Merlin goes to put the leads away and make sure all the dogs are comfortable; Gaius' coat usually needs a good brush after a walk in the wind, and he thinks one of the other older dogs, Geoffrey, is starting to limp a little.

He's barely picked up the grooming kit when he hears someone swearing from the waiting room, and with a crackle of magic he fixes Gaius' coat and runs for it.

Skidding into the main area, he sees Tristan and the siamese at a stand-off, Tristan's little nose bleeding and the siamese with a little streak of blood on its ear. The owner, a blonde woman Merlin doesn't know, looks afraid to pick her cat up, leaning away with wide eyes.

“You get the pretty one, I'll get the fighter,” an amused voice says, and Merlin nods. He lunges at the same time as the stranger does, picking up the siamese and moving it away. It fights him, but the magic is good for something; claws scratch at air, rather than skin, and the latch of the cat carrier mends itself as he carefully puts the animal back.

Morgana sticks her head through from the surgery, glancing at the newcomer before focusing on the blonde. “Come on through, please.”

With a “thank you” to Merlin, she hurries past the other man with a wary glance at Tristan, disappearing through the doors.

“Gwaine,” the man introduces himself. “He's nice.”

“He hates everyone,” Merlin says, because it's the first thing that comes into his head apart from 'wow.' Gwaine laughs, scratching Tristan behind his ear. The kitten purrs, and Merlin stares.”Or not.” He shakes the surreal feeling away, and notices that Gwaine doesn't have an animal with him. “Can I help you with something?”

“I hope so,” Gwaine says, and everything from his tone to his smile is promising. “I was wondering if I could draw some of your residents. It's for work, and I don't know anyone with pets.”

“Oh.” Merlin blinks. “I'm not-”

“Of course you can,” Gwen interrupts, sailing in from somewhere behind Merlin. “As long as you don't cause any disruptions, stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” Gwaine says, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Where can I work?”

“Merlin will show you,” answer Gwen, because she isn't nice, no, she's evil and wants Merlin to blush like this forever.

“What kind of animals did you want to draw?”

Gwaine shrugs. “Any, although dogs are better at a distance. I'm allergic.” He slings an arm around Merlin's shoulders and spins him to face the doors towards the animal section. Merlin can't help it; his magic sparks out and flickers over Gwaine.

“That probably won't be a problem here,” he says, grinning. “We're a unique RSPCA centre.”

“Is that so?” Gwaine says, grinning back. He's even more good-looking when he grins, Merlin notes, and Tristan, cradled carefully in one hand, has gone to sleep. It's surreal.

“Wait till you meet The Dragon.”

  
♣


End file.
